


Friends Make Garbage (Good Friends Take It Out)

by Your_Iron_Lung



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bruises, Gen, Locker Room, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-02-13 10:45:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12982377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Your_Iron_Lung/pseuds/Your_Iron_Lung
Summary: A series of one-shots based on user submitted prompts I received from Tumblr focusing on the relationship between Billy and Steve, both in platonic and romantic settings.More tags will be added in correspondence to the nature of the prompts I fill.I am open to taking prompts, so if you want to leave one in the comments I may or may not get around to filling it.





	1. Bruises (Amethyst)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from manomynousworld on tumblr: Locker room and Shower after basket ball

There’s a line drawn horizontally across Billy’s back that Steve’s not sure he knows is there. It’s spread out just above his shoulder blades in a deep, dark shade of purple that draws Steve’s eye to it every time he has to chase Billy down the court to fight for ball control. He’s sure that if Billy knew it was there, he probably would have been playing with his shirt on. It’s apparent he doesn’t know the bruise is there, and nobody tells him about it until after they finish their scrimmage. 

“Damn Billy, you got bitches desperate enough for your cock they manhandling you for it now?” 

It’s Tommy who mentions it first, slapping a hand to his shoulder in congratulations as they finally file into the locker room after practice. Billy looks confused at first, but plays it cool as he changes out of his shorts, draping a towel around his waist. “You know how sluts are, man. Never can get enough.”

Steve notices the way his face falls after Tommy walks away, lumbering towards the showers to brag about Billy’s conquests for him. Once he’s gone, he watches as Billy cranes his neck over his shoulder, trying to see what Tommy was referring to. No matter how he twists his body though, the bruise remains just outside of his line of sight.

“It’s just above your shoulders,” Steve says at last as he pulls his sweat-soaked shirt over his head. “The bruise, I mean.”

Billy stiffens at the sound of his voice and stops trying to twist his head around his neck like some sort of Exorcist parody. He makes eye contact with Steve and shoots him an angry look, as though Steve been the one to leave the mark upon him.

The rest of their teammates are already in the shower, leaving the two of them alone in the changing area. Steve’s half-expecting a fight as Billy steps up into his personal space, his eyebrows drawn in tightly together as he flicks his tongue out and drags them across his teeth.

“Show me,” he says, and turns so that his back is exposed to Steve. “Trace it out for me, Harrington.”

Steve’s too surprised to move for a moment. 

“Uh, alright,” he says quietly, setting his shirt aside on a nearby bench. 

Staring at the broad expanse of Billy’s back, Steve can see a much fainter bruise in the same shape and size a little lower down, marking his lower-back as well. It looks like Billy’s been shoved into some shelves or something, and as he hesitantly presses a finger to his shoulder, he wonders who in the world could possibly posses that sort of power over him.

He begins to drag his finger across his skin lightly, dragging it along the line the bruise makes slowly. “It starts here, and goes all the way over to here,” he mutters, keeping his voice low as he makes a trail through the sweat that’s accumulated between his shoulder blades, mapping out the bruise.

Steve doesn’t miss the way Billy shudders at the contact and can’t help the way his heart-rate begins to pick up. 

Billy’s about to step away when Steve grips his shoulder tightly, keeping him in place.

“What the fuck Harrington-” Billy begins to say testily, his voice rumbling out of his chest menacingly.

“There’s another one,” Steve says quickly before Billy can confront him. “Lower down.”

“Fuck,” Billy mumbles. He stays still, shoulders slumping a bit as Steve trails his palm down the crevice of his back, resting it over where the second bruise lies.

“This one’s really faint,” he explains, tracing it out with his thumb, stepping in close so that their bodies are almost touching. 

Billy’s skin is smooth under his touch, unblemished by any skin condition typical of teenagers their age. There are no moles or freckles; the only things tarnishing his skin being the bruises he’s somehow acquired. He’s staring now, he knows, as his eyes dip down to where the towel he’s wearing hides the swell of his ass.

Steve wants to spread both of his hands out all across him, fingers twitching at the skin under his palms before the voices from the other boys in the shower come back to reach him. He abruptly steps back and pulls his hands away, staring forlornly at the body he can only touch in his mind.

He finishes undressing hurriedly, leaving Billy alone to catch a shower before anyone from their team notices that the two of them are missing simultaneously. Billy watches him go, a dark expression of longing crossing his features momentarily before he decides to follows after him, wondering when he’d given Steve the power to make him feel better about the bruises Neil gives him.


	2. She's So Unusual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from digitaldevilqueen on Tumblr: Steve finds Cyndi Lauper albums in Billy’s locker/bag/room

“Backseat.”

Max stopped moving, already halfway into the passenger seat of Billy’s car when he spoke. She got back out and cast Billy a questioning look, but he wasn’t paying attention to her. Leaning against the driver’s side door of his Camaro, Billy was smoking languidly and looking out across the parking lot disinterestedly.

“What?” she asked, frowning when he didn’t acknowledge her.

“Backseat,” he repeated calmly, turning to give her a stern look that dared her to ask him again. She huffed out in annoyance and tossed her hair over her shoulder, channeling her irritation into throwing the passenger seat forward. She crawled into the cramped confines of the backseat, muttering curses under her breath as she dragged her book bag in after her and set the seat back into its standard position.

Ignoring whatever the hell she was mumbling about, Billy redirected his attention to surveying the parking lot, throwing the butt of his cigarette away once he’d smoked it down to the filter. 

“What are we waiting for?” he heard Max ask, leaning forward between the two front seats to stare at him. “You always bitch me out for being late, and now I’m on time and you don’t want to leave?”

The impatience in her voice made him scowl. He turned around to face her through the driver’s side window, leaning down low enough to look in at her with his arm draped atop the hood for support. He glared at her evenly, which in turn made her to sigh angrily and sit back with her arms crossed across her chest. She stuck her lip out in a pout and glowered out the window.

Billy rolled his eyes and stood back up when he heard someone approaching him from behind. He turned around in time to see Steve hustling towards him, his hair bobbing up and down as he alternated between walking and jogging awkwardly. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he panted when he got closer, flashing Billy an apologetic smile. “English teacher held me late.”

“What is with you people thinking I give a shit?” 

Steve shrugged as he rounded the front of the Camaro to the passenger side, pulling the door open effortlessly and dumping himself gracelessly into the seat. “Fuck me for trying to talk about my day then, I guess. Hey, Max,” he said, turning in his seat to smile and wave at the girl in the back.

“Hi, Steve.” She smiled at him briefly in return before Billy got into the driver’s seat and swung his bag into Steve, who let out a forced ‘oof’ as it made contact with his stomach. 

They peeled out of the parking lot abruptly as soon as Billy started the engine, barely missing a couple of kids who were walking by. Steve quickly buckled his seat belt, dropping his school bag onto the floor between his feet as he held Billy’s in his lap.

“Why are we giving Steve a ride?” Max asked, leaning forward between the two seats again casually as the Camaro rocketed out of the parking lot and onto the main road. 

“My car’s in the shop and Johnathan lives too far out of the way to give me a ride home,” Steve explained, his hands clenching Billy’s bag tensely as they sped down the narrow two-lane road. “Plus we were gonna hang out afterwards, so-”

“ _Harrington_ ,” Billy hissed in warning, turning a dark look on him that Steve ignored. “Sit back, Max.”

“Why do you want to hang out with  _Billy?”_ Max asked incredulously, shaking her head as she sat back against the seat cushion. She honestly had a hard time believing anyone would want to willingly spend their free time hanging out with him. He’d been easier on her since the incident at the Byer’s house, given, but he was still an asshole to pretty much everyone else. 

Steve merely shrugged in lieu of providing her with an actual response, mindful of the way Billy was side-eying him, mentally strong-arming him into not answering her questions.

The rest of the drive to the Hargrove house was spent in silence, with Billy focused on driving, Steve focused on not having a heart attack at the way Billy drove, and Max focused on staring out the window when no one would talk to her.

When they got to the house, Billy pulled up to the curb beside their driveway and jerked the Camaro’s transmission into park, letting the car idle as Steve made to unbuckle his seat-belt. Max waited patiently, watching him with some level of amusement as he struggled with the buckle until it finally clicked and released. 

Unused to being so low to the ground in the Camaro, he swung the door open awkwardly and stumbled out onto the curb. Billy’s bag spilled out of his lap and onto the sidewalk, emptying its contents all over the ground. 

Billy turned at the sound, furrowing his brow as Steve quickly pulled the seat forward to both block his vision and let Max out. “What was that?” 

“Dropped my shit,” Steve said, shooting a pleading glance to Max for her to keep quiet as she helped him gather up Billy’s belongings, stuffing them back into the bag hurriedly.

That was when his hand closed over something hard. Confused, he held up a cassette tape that was still in its case and became even more confused when he saw who the artist was. Max was staring at it too, and, under the assumption that it must have been hers, Steve handed it over to her.

“That’s not mine,” she whispered before breaking out into a huge shit-eating grin. “Oh my God, I think that’s  _Billy’s_. It came out of his bag!”

“No fucking way,” Steve said, mirroring her grin with one of his own. “Billy listens to  _Cyndi Lauper_?”

“The fuck you two doing down there?” Billy called out from where he was still seated behind the wheel. “If you wanted to spend the afternoon eating dirt, Harrington, I would’ve put you down there earlier.”

“Holy shit,” Steve whispered, trying to suppress a laugh as he slipped the cassette back into Billy’s bag and stood up. Max followed him up, laughing quietly under her breath.

“I’ve gotta go,” she said, stepping up the walkway to her house a little bit as she raised her eyebrows at Billy, who was looking the other way. “But you better give him  _hell_ for that.”

“Way ahead of you, kid,” Steve replied, giving her a wink before she retreated fully into her home.

Sliding the seat into position, Steve got back in the Camaro and waited till Billy had started driving again before he decided to say anything about it.

“So, now that Max is gone,” he began, fingering the hem of Billy’s schoolbag in anticipation. “Can I tell you something…  _unusual?”_

“You gonna tell me you love me now or some shit?” Billy sounded bored, unfazed by Steve’s choice of words. He kept his eyes trained on the road, navigating them around a curve at a speed Steve still hadn’t gotten used to traveling at. 

“Gross, no.”

“You wound me, Harrington.”

“Whatever, anyway, you know how my parents are out of town, right?” Steve asked, fighting the urge to break out into an amused smirk.

“That  _is_ kind of the whole reason we’re going to your house in the first place,” Billy reminded him, looking at him in confusion for a brief moment. “You said we could use your parents’ water bed this time to-”

“RIGHT, well,” Steve interrupted loudly, fighting a blush that threatened to cover his face. He had to clear his throat before he could continue. “Well, last night uh, my  _dad_ called me up. In the middle of the night.”

Steve was looking at Billy closely, watching for any sign that would give him away. To his credit though, Billy had an incredible poker face. There were no tells in his face that alluded to the fact that he might have known what Steve was trying to get at, but Steve had known that about him already. Instead he was watching his hands, looking to them for a tell of some sort and got exactly what he was looking for.

Billy’s fingers twitched and tightened across the steering wheel, gripping it in a strong fist. He remained suspiciously quiet as Steve continued talking.

“So he  _calls me in the middle of the night_ , right, and then he just starts yelling! Starts going off on me, asking me what I’m gonna do with my life,” Steve said, speaking excitedly and gesturing with his hands to tell his fabricated story. Billy’s fists had begun to shake. “And then he starts talking about my  _mom,_ just going on and on about how…. she’s _…_ so _… unusual.”_

Billy’s poker face broke as he turned to look at Steve sharply. Here Steve let himself smile, and from inside Billy’s bag he pulled out the Cyndi Lauper ‘She’s So Unusual’ album on cassette, holding it up for him to see clearly. 

“That’s not mine,” Billy said quickly, turning away and licking his lips nervously, his face beginning to turn red. “Must be Max’s; little shit must have left it when she got out.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Hargrove,” Steve cackled, unable to keep his laughter at bay any longer. “It came out of  _your_ bag! It fell out when I got out of the car;  _you listen to Cyndi Lauper!”_

Too engrossed with his laughter to care about the way Billy’s face had darkened with his embarrassment, Steve wasn’t prepared for the way the car swerved abruptly across the road. He cursed, tears in his eyes as the momentum drove him back into his seat.

“If you tell  _anyone”_ Billy hissed, glaring ahead of him with a manic look in his eye, “and I mean  _anyone,_ I will fucking  _kill_  you.”

In that instant, Steve had no doubt that he would. Billy was getting better at handling his rages, but they still managed to frighten him at times, and as they sped carelessly through the streets where the speed limit was  _definitely_ 35 and not a solid  _60_ , he found that this was one of those times.

“Jesus Christ, I won’t tell,” he said, still laughing slightly in spite of himself as they peeled through his neighborhood, roaring up his driveway so fast he thought Billy was going to crash them into the garage door. Before they made impact, Billy slammed on the brakes so hard they screamed, locking the tires in place as they slid across the pavement to leave deep, black tread marks behind them.

The engine of the Camaro rumbled smoothly as it idled, the nose of the car almost pressed up flush against the Harrington’s garage. Steve’s humor left him as he quickly exited the Camaro to inspect the markings.

“Was that really necessary?” he snapped after he’d assessed the damage, standing in the opening of the passenger side to glare in at Billy, who sat in his seat calmly, looking up at him innocently as though he  _hadn’t_ just tried to put them through the garage door.

“Absolutely,” he said, snickering as Steve ran a hand through his hair and grumbled about how his parents were most assuredly going to blame him for this when they came home. “No one laughs at Cyndi.”


	3. I Believe Jesus Brought Us Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this ones a sequel to the first prompt in this... compilation? anthology? SERIES? what do you call something like this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'In the engines of desire, in the come down daylight-  
> I believe my trouble and your trouble shook hands'

“Keep your shirt on.”

Billy brushes past him without looking at him, speaking in a low growl as he is heralded to the basketball court by his entourage. He speaks quietly, bumping into Steve’s shoulder to make sure he’s the only one who can hear him as he whispers the rough command under his breath. It’s enough to make Steve pause, shirt half-off and almost pulled completely over his head. He lets it drop, sliding back over his body slowly, covering his torso whole.

Despite the act of aggression, Billy’s words aren’t a threat; they aren’t even a cheap gibe to rile Steve up before the scrimmage, or an attempt to flaunt his strength in front of his peers, but serve instead as a warning, of sorts. Steve watches Billy go, already laughing and taunting his other classmates, his own shirt clinging tightly to his chest.

Steve’s confused for about half a second before he remembers- remembers with stunning clarity the way Billy’s body shook under his touch as he traced out the bruises that marred his beautiful skin. However many weeks ago, when he learned what made the shirt so necessary for Billy to sometimes have to wear.

Passively Steve reaches out to touch his shoulder, suddenly aware of Billy’s generosity with the favor he’s repaid in kind.

A week ago, his kid friends found a dog. A nasty one. Big, bloated, and vicious as ever. He’d volunteered himself to take care of it, but there’d been more than one. He should’ve known better, honestly, but what they hadn’t known at the time was that these dogs weren’t _new_ ; they hadn’t broken through the rift and traveled to their dimension on their own, but instead were the corpses of the dogs they’d already taken care of, revived by some lingering shred of evil that had escaped imprisonment. They hadn’t accounted for _that_ in their master plan.

They’d taken him off guard, and Dustin’s screams of warning had come too late as a massively dense hulk of rotted flesh body-slammed into his back and tried to rip his head off. He’d survived the encounter, but only barely.

Steve honestly thought his back had been broken after that, and his body even today remains sore. Standing alone in the locker room, he wonders how on earth he could have forgotten the giant bruise he’d been left with.

He can’t see the whole thing, though, even as he tries; lifting up the edge of his shirt and contorting his body around to try and catch visions of the grossly huge blemish in the bathroom mirror. The sounds of his classmates running each other down on the court reaches him distantly, but he’s already tuned them out by the time he sees Billy, lingering behind him by an open stall.

Not even yet sweaty, Billy’s eye is drawn to Steve’s skin, where the bottom of the bruise is exposed from under the swathe of fabric.

There’s a look on his face that Steve finds he can’t quite describe as he steps closer, and wordlessly Steve pulls the shirt up and over his head to let him see the whole of it. He feels vulnerable, but knows Billy wants to see it fully; wants to compare their tragedies, apples to apples.

From the mirror Steve can see the different expressions that cross Billy’s face, ranging from confusion to sympathy and anger before he finally speaks, quietly asking in a voice far softer than Steve thought he was ever capable of producing, “Who?”

But there is no ‘who’ for Steve; only _what_ \- a nameless _what_ that he’s sworn to keep secret, and so he stumbles, hesitates, and can’t find a way to answer Billy when his eyes look away from his back and into the reflection of his own.

“Um,” Steve responds, eyes darting away from where they meet Billy’s in the mirror. He shifts his weight, his shirt hanging off his arms as he shakes his head, trying to think of something- _anything-_ to say. “It’s- just, y’know. One of those things.”

He tries to smile and laugh it off, but his voice breaks unexpectedly.

“Was it one of the guys? Tommy?” Billy asks, but retracts his words almost instantly with a shake of his head. He stares somberly at the bruise that is deep purple in colour and asks in a dreadfully quiet voice that sounds almost… _hopeful,_ despite its implications: “Was it…was it your dad?”

Steve swallows hard and tilts his head up to gaze pleadingly at the ceiling, hating the way he can’t find words to refute whatever it is Billy is trying to find in him, but he still, _still_ cannot find the words. All he needs to say is ‘no’, but his heart is filled with such sorrow for the boy at his back that he can’t even manage that.

They each had secrets to keep, but here Billy was, about to spill his in the false belief that Steve’s injuries might be related to his own. And sure, Steve’s dad is an asshole, but he hasn’t _hit_ him since he was a child, and even then it had never… never been…

“Listen, Billy-” he starts to say, attempting to turn around and face him, but Billy’s hands on his shoulders, calloused, warm, and not nearly as rough as he thought they’d be keep him in place. The words ‘I just can’t talk about it’ die on his tongue as he catches Billy’s look of subdued admiration in the mirror.

“It’s kinda pretty.” Billy’s hands slide from Steve’s freckled shoulders down to his back, gently, _gently_ touching the bruised skin. It’s his turn to swallow his reserve down as he peers over Steve’s shoulder and into his sorrowful eyes. “Like you.”

Steve’s heart begins to race as Billy leans forward to press his lips to his skin, kissing the bruise- kissing _him­-_ reverently.

He pulls away before Steve can react, and this time when Steve tries to turn to face him, he doesn’t hold him in place. Steve watches as Billy looks at him, hesitates, and then takes his shirt off, revealing a cluster of bruises on his abdomen near his stomach.

The sight of them, all brown, yellowish, and small is enough to make Steve’s stomach drop. The revelation is so sincere, and Billy has never appeared more vulnerable.

Apples to apples, bruises to bruises, and Billy’s have nothing in common with his own.

He steps forward, prepared to drop to his knees so he can kiss the battered skin the same way Billy had kissed his own, but the screeching sounds of sneakers skidding along the basketball court stills him. Steve stays hunched, fingertips pressed to the taut muscle as he looks away towards the locker room entrance, aware of how easily they could be exposed in this moment. Billy’s eyes follow his, and he steps out of reach before either of them can act further. Steve lets his fingers curl back into his palm like the legs of a dead spider as Billy casually begins to redress and gestures for him to do the same.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, already walking to his locker to take out his things. He pulls out his car keys and holds them up for Steve to see and jingles them enticingly.

Steve knows he should tell him the truth of his injury, but also knows he can’t. He watches the keys clink together, can hear the dull thudding of a basketball being dribbled hard against the wood, and can see the almost desperate look of need to find something they could share between them illuminated in Billy’s eyes from the shitty overhead fluorescent lights.

He pretends he doesn’t have a conscience; pretends he can’t feel the guilt.

“My parents aren’t home,” Steve says while trying to crack a smile. “We can go there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i love comments. i am open to prompts, but may not always fill
> 
> check out my writing tumblr @your-iron-lung


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